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Mikhal Saber Khaladi
Stats: * Height 6' * Weight: 170 * Age: 27 * Ethnicity: Kelishite * Appearance: Tall, athletically built, with the brown skin and black hair typical of the Keleshite people. While most of his countrymen nurture full beards, Mikhal has opted for a more streamline look he feels better accentuates his face. Even when he's not at sea or among the sands of his homeland he's taken to framing his amber eyes with khol. While he may no longer count himself as a noble of Qadir he still displays high-born sensibilities in the way he dresses and carries himself. He wears clothing practical for life at sea while favoring the patterned cloth popular in his homeland. He's trying to adopt a more Chelish way of dressing to fit in since deciding to stay in Kintargo. Mikhaleh Amirbanu Saber Khaladi al-Parishat is a Keleshite hailing from Qadir, a son to one of the numerous branches of the Imperial family. He was born alongside his sister, Mishanae, a set of fraternal twins. The pair were best friends and nearly inseparable growing up. They were both treated to similar educations and activities such as riding and swordplay, but as the two approached adulthood it became clear to Mikhal that he couldn’t follow Mishanae forever; her paths began to branch out, while he faced inevitability. Her place as a woman was the eventual head of the family and whatever she wanted was hers. His lot was to work for his own notoriety, wealth, and a future in a different noble house. At age 16 he expressed an interest in seeing the world beyond Qadir. His parents obliged, expecting he’d be back once his purse ran low, curiosity sated, ready to start building a name for himself in pursuit of favorable marriage. His sister knew him better, and would not see him go without a promise to keep in touch and two gifts to protect him on his journeys: Her favorite silk scarf, and her rose-gold amulet of Sarenrae. In the end, his travels did help to sate his curiosity, but it also began to wear away at his limited view of the world and the people in it. Having grown up in a family that owned slaves but treated them fairly, the widespread cruelty he saw elsewhere opened his eyes and apathy was replaced with disgust. Exposure to cultures not his own and the interesting and good people they produced inspired respect in place of the feelings of superiority nurtured by his upbringing. Rather than head home once his gold ran out, Mikhal turned to working on merchant ships as a way to make a living and still travel as desired. Running with a favorable Captain and crew, he eventually picked up a hobby of helping smuggle slaves out of various cities in Cheliax when it proved safe to do so. --------------------------------------------- It was the day after The Night of Ash that Mikhal’s ship landed in Kintargo, one of its regular stops. Mikhal couldn’t quite place the strange atmosphere that now sat heavy in the streets even when he came upon the burnt down shop that housed the shrine to Sarenrae, but instinct had him walk by it without much of a fuss. Suspicious, he headed toward Old Kintargo, and it was there that the uneasiness that was plaguing him blossomed into fear and dread. Heads on pikes, a few he recognized. Friends dead or missing, even familiar looking faces among the towns-guard were now hard to find. He got off the streets as quickly as he could and hunkered down in a tavern he trusted, listening to the hushed conversations of the other patrons and having a few of his own until he was certain of one thing. Staying was dangerous. He was almost back to the docks when he was stopped by the dottari for wearing proscribed clothing: The blue embroidered scarf his sister gifted him, worn as a sash underneath the protection of much more modest cloth, had fluttered loose to show off its fine edging. Perhaps his silver tongue saved him from worse, but it didn’t stop them from fining him and confiscating his sister’s scarf. Fearing they’d find his pendant- or worse, peg him in connection to the Bellflowers, Mikhal swallowed his anger. By the time he was back to his ship he had had time to think and his fear and anger gave way to determination. His run in with the dottari and the loss of his faithful sister’s scarf? It was a sign. He shamefully turned his back on a destroyed Sarenite shrine and the murders of good people. A city in need. Mikhal packed his bag, informed his Captain and crew mates, and walked back into Kintargo with a purpose. He’s staying with a recent and like-minded friend in Kintargo when he hears a member of the Silver Ravens will be attending an upcoming protest. If he has any chance of setting things right, this could be it.